The Shining Falcon

Chapter XLVl Kirtesk

Maria clung frantically to the smooth-feathered back as the golden eagle plummeted helplessly, wild wind pulling the air from her lungs. Seeing the fields once so far below them seeming to rush up at them, she tried to pray, but the only thing that came to mind was an anguished memory of Finist's face, eyes warm with love…

Just when she was sure she was dead, the eagle, with a very human groan of effort, managed to drag open his wings and began backwatering fiercely, braking with all his might. Those wide wings swept out sharply, throwing her forward onto his neck, struggling to keep her seat. Then their fall was levelling out into a long, sweeping glide. But we're already so close to the ground‑is there room for him to land safely?

Not quite. They hit the ground with stunning force. Maria was thrown from the eagle's back and went rolling helplessly away, ending up at last on her back, staring blankly up at the night‑darkening sky, too dazed and winded to move.

Yes, but she was beginning to realize she'd landed right on top of her pack, and it was uncomfortable, to say the least. And the eagle—she didn't hear a sound from him. Was he all right?

When Maria painfully managed to sit up and turn around, she saw him, no longer eagle but man, half-hidden by the bushes into which he'd fallen, lying quite still.

She hurried to him, and let out her breath in a sigh of relief: He wasn't dead. Drained of strength, he had collapsed into heavy sleep. Maria hesitated, glancing toward the walls of Kirtesk, now so temptingly near. Akh, Finist! If she left now, she might be at his side this very night.

Maria sighed and turned back towards the unconscious man, spreading her shawl and scarf over him for warmth and modesty.

It was going to be a long night.

Vasili awoke with a cry, blinking in confusion at the sleepy Maria there in the cold grey light of early morning,

«What— Oh. Yes.» He clutched the shawl frantically to him. «Was I asleep all this time?»

«You were.»

«Ah.» The fair skin reddened a bit. «Child, forgive me, I thought I'd outgrown the sin of Pride, but… it was so glorious to fly again.» He shook his head in self-reproach. «I should have heeded you and landed before I'd exhausted myself.»

You should, indeed, thought Maria, but all she said was a carefully bland «No harm done. But are you all right?»

For answer, he shifted smoothly back to eagle—a normal-sized eagle this time—offering her shawl and scarf with a careful talon. Golden eyes looked from her to Kirtesk and back again.

Maria sighed. «I know, I know. You still will not break your vow by entering the city.»

The eagle gave her an apologetic glance. He reached forward to rub his head against her cheek in a gentle caress, then took to the air in a rush, flying back to his monastery. Maria got to her feet, watching till she couldn't see him any longer, then turned to face Kirtesk, feeling a surge of something near to panic.

Finist, Maria reminded herself, and started determinedly forward.

The guards hadn't even looked twice at the plain-faced peasant girl entering their city. Maria scuttled through the vast main gate before they could change their minds, but then had to stop, overwhelmed by the realization that she was in Kirtesk. After all these days and hardships, she was actually in Kirtesk!

For a moment, Maria seemed to hear Vasilissa's voice in her ear, warning her, A boyar's daughter doesn't stare; a boyar's daughter doesn't gawk at things like a peasant.

Right now, I am a peasant! Maria retorted, and stood and gawked as she would.

Even consumed by worry as she was, Maria had to confess that this was a lovely city. It wasn't as large as Stargorod, but unlike that hectic, complicated place, it was clean. The streets—all of them, by Heaven, not just those leading to the market square—were paved with smooth planking. The houses were mostly of fine stone, though some were of wood beautifully carved and painted. And the people‑Maria raised a surprised eyebrow. In Stargorod, only the boyars wore anything more exotic than linen. Here, it seemed that linen was reserved for the poor. Everyone else wore a wild riot of color, tunics and trousers for the men, gaily embroidered blouses and sarafans, overdresses, for the women, brocaded caftans for the wealthy. The fabrics of choice seemed to be either the finest, thinnest of wools or even silk!

Well, Finist did mention to me once that Kirtesk is on one of the silk routes.

It wasn't just the material prosperity, though. Kirtesk had a feel of joy to it, of contentment—something Stargorod had always lacked. Although Maria knew she had never been here before, she felt very much as though she had come home.

But what sort of home could it be without Finist?

The sheer anguish of that thought brought her sharply back to reality, and all at once Maria found herself staring at the people she passed—staring with a new and ever‑increasing fear.

Why do they all have such sad, worried faces? Why is the city so quiet? It's almost as though everyone's in mourning. Oh, dear God, am I too late?

Surely she would know if Finist were dead. She would know it.

Panic wasn't going to solve anything. Mimicking Mar-fa's accent as best she could, Maria asked a cloth merchant, «Something wrong here?»

He looked at her in disbelief. «Just come in from the countryside, have you? Haven't you heard about our poor Prince?»

«He—he isn't — "

«Dead? No, praise Heaven! But he's so ill, we don't know if he will recover. Eh, wait! Where are you going?» Maria had hurried blindly off, mind tumbling with wild thoughts. She had to get into the royal palace. She had to get to Finist's side before it was too late. But how could she manage it? They would never let a mere peasant in there. And if she dropped all disguise, Ljuba would kill her.

As she wove her way through the crowds, a familiar name caught her ear.

«Pity about it. Boyar Semyon's a good man.» Finist had spoken of a Semyon. He'd told her how the old man was ever loyal, a good friend and a true support. Could this be the same boyar? Maria edged warily forward.

Not warily enough. The merchant who'd been speaking to his fellow stopped to glare at her, and she hurried meekly away.

Yes, but now that she was attuned to Semyon's name, she seemed to be hearing it everywhere, in various snatches of nervous gossip:

«Pity the boyar went and resigned from court.»

«Especially now.»

And: «It was the lady made boyar Semyon resign.»

«Hush! Never know if Her Sorcerousness might be listening!»

And: «She made boyar Semyon leave, you know. It's only truth. The Lady Ljuba never did like him.»

«Well, at least she let him stay here in Kirtesk.»

«Shh! He's here, right behind you! See him?» Slowly, casually, Maria turned. Akh, but Semyon looked so weary, so worn. So old. Not surprising, under the circumstances, she thought wryly.

But this might be her only chance. Without stopping to think, Maria hurried to the boyar's side. Startled servants quickly moved to block her path and protect their master, and Maria hastily called, «Please, boyar! I must speak with you!»

He can't think me a threat, an innocuous peasant girl!

Sure enough, Semyon was waving his servants aside. «What is it, child?» he asked courteously. «How may I help you?»

Maria hesitated. She hardly wanted to discuss this where everyone could overhear. «It's about—about the prince's health," she said warily, and saw Semyon tense. «Please, boyar, I must speak with you alone, just for a few moments!»

«My lord?» The servants weren't too happy about it. But their master gave a short, humorless laugh.

«What, after all I've survived so for, do you really think one little peasant lass could possibly hurt me?» He paused, glancing about with well-trained caution. «Come, girl,, this innkeeper knows me. We shall have at least the illusion of privacy.»

«I can't tell you my true name," Maria began. «No, it's not a trick, I swear. It's only— You see, there's — " She stopped, took a deep steadying breath, and started anew. «It has something to do with a fragile spell of disguise. You know about such things? Akh, of course you would! You remember when Finist was hidden as Finn!» Semyon's eyes widened. «How would you know — "

«Because I was there! Boyar, I'm the one of whom he's spoken, the—ah—the daughter of that exiled boyar from Stargorod. Please, before you interrupt, let me tell you why I'm here.»

«I wouldn't dream of interrupting!» Semyon said.

«… and so," Maria concluded, voice quavering, «Finist was gone.»

«And you came all the way from Stargorod to find him," Semyon said carefully, «all by yourself.»

«I didn't have a choice. There wasn't anyone to go with me.»

She stopped to catch her breath, fighting back sudden tears. «Oh, don't you see? How could I not come? He—

In a dream‑message, he cried out to me to seek him, to— to save him. How could I not come to Kirtesk?» Maria hesitated, studying Semyon's face. «You—you do believe me?»

«I do.» His voice was grim. «But‑my dear, do you know what you're doing? The, ah, lady will not be gentle with someone who tries to stand in her way.»

Maria stared at him. «And would you willingly abandon Finist?» she asked.

Semyon winced. «No, I would not.»

He fell silent for so long that Maria felt her spirits sink.

«But… for all and all, you're not going to help me, are you?»

The boyar gave her a startled look. «Of course I am!» he said. «Now," he added thoughtfully, «I have only to figure out a way to get you safely into the palace.»

Ljuba glanced at herself in the mirror, then looked quickly away. Face wan, drawn, eyes haunted and dark‑circled— God, she looked like an old woman!

But how could she look any other way? Every time she dared relax her guard and sleep, the forest and all its demons taunted her. Sick for want of rest, she was finding it more and more difficult to keep the boyars in check-why, this very morning she'd overheard them murmuring something about her and madness in the same breath! And Finist—

She glanced down at him, lying motionless, only the faint movement of his chest proving he still lived. The iron pin had worked too well, subduing his will so firmly that he was nearly in coma. But at least the thing was doing some good! While it kept him in that deep, dreamless sleep, his fever-exhausted body had a chance to heal. In fact, the fever seemed to have broken, much to Ljuba's relief.

But what about the effects of the potion? Had he sweated that out, too? Ljuba sighed wearily. She didn't dare give him another dose, not as weak as he was. If she left the iron pin in place, he'd never be able to truly wake. But if she removed it, and the potion no longer bound him, she was doomed.

It was all too much for her to bear. Ljuba rushed from the room, leaving orders to the servants to summon her if there was any change in the prince's condition, hurrying she knew not where. She narrowly avoided a collision with some homely young woman servant.

«Fool! Get out of my way!»

«Ah‑Lady Ljuba?»

«Of course, you idiot!»

«Wait, lady, please. I've heard of your troubles, with that stained caftan, I mean, and— Well, I think I just may be able to help you!»

Maria had been hard put to keep her voice light and casual. It hadn't proven too difficult for Semyon to smuggle her into the palace with some of the real servants, it hadn't been too difficult to wander her way towards the royal quarters, she hadn't even had too long a wait before Ljuba had come tearing out of there as though possessed. But now that she was actually face to face with the woman—

Akh, Ljuba was beautiful! Even now, looking haggard, she was so beautiful that Maria's heart ached.

How can Finist love plain, unbeautiful me, when every day he's faced with this golden wonder?

And yet… he had wanted to wed Maria, not treacherous Ljuba.

But this was no time for self‑doubt, while Ljuba was shouting angrily for her to stand aside. Maria saw the sorcerous rage in those lovely eyes, hot as the heart of hate, and was very much able to believe that this exquisite creature had tried to kill her. Fighting down her terror, her urge to run, Maria stood her ground and told Ljuba, with feigned cheerfulness, how she knew of that stained caftan. She concluded with:

«Well, I think I just may be able to help you!»

Ljuba tensed. «What do you mean?»

«It isn't nice perfumey stuff such as you ladies use, but…»

«Out with it, girl! What are you trying to say?»

«Only that I've got a concoction of sorts, a soap we use back in my village. It gets most any stain out of anything.

And I don't doubt it'll take the bloodstains right out of that caftan you've got, and let you w-wed your prince!»

Would Ljuba accept Maria's story? It was a bluff, of course. Still, to judge from those marks of strain on Ljuba's face, she must have reached the point of being willing to try anything.

And so it was. «What is your price?» she asked.

«No more than you can pay, lady," answered Maria, rather surprised at her own blitheness.

«So.» Ljuba hesitated, absently tapping a long, elegant finger against a perfectly curved lip. «Come with me» she said. «You'll have your chance. Of course," she added over her shoulder, in so casually cruel a voice that Maria shuddered, «you do understand that if you fail, if you damage the caftan in any way at all—you'll die.»